‘I am told that the reason for this horrendous attack was that there was plague in the village. This is why I ask that the physician of the abbey be summoned. Do you fear the plague here?’
Brother Conghus shook his head.
‘With God’s help, most of us have discovered an immunity in this abbey. We have had four outbreaks of the pestilence during this last year but it has claimed only a few lives from the young scholars. We no longer have fear of the disease. I will get someone to take poor Sister Eisten and her charges to the hostel where they will be well taken care of.’
He turned and waved a hand to a passing young novice. She was a tall girl, slightly broad in the shoulders with a carriage that seemed clumsy.
‘Sister Necht, take this sister and the children to the hostel. Tell Brother Rumann to summon Brother Midach to examine them. Then see that they are fed and rested. I will speak with Midach shortly.’
His orders were issued in a series of staccato bursts. Fidelma noticed that the young girl hesitated, staring in open-mouthed surprise as she seemed to recognise Eisten and the children. Then she seemed to make a conscious effort to pull herself together and hurried forward to shepherd the children and the plaintive, plump Eisten away. Brother Conghus, assured his orders were being obeyed, turned back to Fidelma.
‘Brother Midach is our chief physician while Rumann is our steward. They will take care of Sister Eisten and the children,’ he explained unnecessarily. He pointed the way forward across the courtyard. ‘I will bring you to the abbot. Have you come directly from Cashel?’
‘We have,’ confirmed Cass as they followed him. The warrior in Cass paused to draw attention to a matter Fidelma had neglected. ‘Our horses need a rub down and feeding, brother.’
‘I will attend to your horses just as soon as I have conducted you to the abbot,’ Conghus replied.
The doorkeeper of the abbey started to hurry with somewhat unseemly haste across the paved yard, through the complex of buildings, pausing from time to time to urge them to follow with as much speed as they could. Fidelma and Cass complied, however, with a more leisurely pace which was governed by their fatigue. The walk seemed interminable but, at last, having ascended the stairs of a large building, set slightly apart from the others, the aistreóir halted before a dark oak door and motioned them to wait while he knocked and disappeared behind it. Only moments passed before he re-emerged and, holding wide the door, gestured for them to go inside.
They found themselves in a large vaulted chamber whose cold grey stone walls were relieved by colourful tapestries, each illustrating something of the life of Christ. A fire smouldered in the hearth and there was the smell of incense permeating through the room. The floor was carpeted with soft woollen rugs. The furniture was rich and the ornaments extravagant in their opulence. The abbot of Ros Ailithir did not appear to believe in frugality.
‘Fidelma!’
A tall man rose from behind a dark, polished oak table. He was thin, with a hook nose, piercing blue eyes, and his red hair was cut in the tonsure of the Irish church, shaven at the front to a line from ear to ear and the hair hanging long at the back. There was something about his facial appearance which, to the discerning eye, suggested a relationship to Fidelma.
‘I am your cousin, Brocc,’ the thin man announced. His voice seemed to boom with a deep bass quality. ‘I have not seen you since you were a child.’
The greeting was meant to be a warm one yet there was some false note in the abbot’s voice. It was as if part of histhoughts were elsewhere while he was trying to summon a welcome.
Even when he stretched out both hands to take Fidelma’s own in greeting, they were cold and flaccid and also seemed to belie the attempted tone of welcome in his voice. Fidelma had little recollection of her cousin from her exuberant childhood. Perhaps that was understandable for Abbot Brocc was at least ten or fifteen years her senior.
She returned his greeting with a degree of studied formality and then introduced Cass.
‘Cass has been appointed to assist me in this matter by my brother, Colgú.’
Brocc examined Cass with an uneasy gaze, his eyes going to Cass’s throat where the warrior had loosened his cloak and it had fallen away to reveal the golden necklet of his office. For his part, Cass reached out with a strong grip to take the abbot’s hand. Fidelma saw Brocc’s facial muscles twitch at the power of the grip.
‘Come, be seated, cousin. You also, Cass. My doorkeeper, Brother Conghus, tells me that you arrived with Sister Eisten and some children from Rae na Scríne. Eisten’s mission there comes under the jurisdiction of this abbey and so we are much concerned at what has happened there. Tell me the story.’
Fidelma glanced to Cass as she slumped thankfully into a chair, relaxing for the first time in twenty-four hours in some degree of comfort. The young warrior picked up the invitation that her glance implied and quickly told the story of how they had found Eisten and the children at Rae na Scríne.
Brocc’s face became a mask of anger and he reached up a hand to tap absently on the bridge of his nose.
‘This is an evil business. I will send a messenger at once to Salbach, the chieftain of the Corco Loígde. He will have this man Intat and his men punished for this heinous act. Leavethis matter with me. I shall ensure Salbach hears of this at once.’
‘And Sister Eisten and her charges?’ asked Fidelma.
‘Have no fears for them. We will care for them here. We have a good infirmary and our physician, Brother Midach, has dealt with ten cases of the Yellow Plague over the last year. God has been good to us. Three of the victims he has successfully cured. We have no fear of the plague here. And is it not right that we should have no fear for we are of the Faith and are in God’s good hands?’
‘I am delighted that you view the matter with such a perspective,’ replied Fidelma gravely. ‘I would expect no less.’
Cass wondered, for a moment, whether she was being ironical at Brocc’s pious attitude.
‘So now,’ Brocc’s cold eyes examined her steadily, ‘let us get down to the main reason for your visit here.’
Fidelma groaned inwardly. She would prefer to have slept and recovered something of her serenity of mind before dealing with the matter. A long deep sleep was what she most desired. She would prefer to have eaten and drunk mulled wine to warm her and then fallen onto a dry bed no matter how hard. But Brocc was probably right. It would be best to get the preliminaries over with.
As she was contemplating her reply, Brocc rose from his seat and went to stand at a window which, she could see, even from her seated position, looked out across the inlet of the sea. The abbot stood, hands clasped behind his back, gazing down.
‘I am aware that time is of the essence, cousin,’ he said slowly. ‘And I am aware that I, as abbot, am held accountable for the Venerable Dacán’s death. If I was in need of reminding of the fact, then the king of Laigin has sent me a token as remembrance.’
Fidelma stared at him for a moment.
‘What do you mean?’ Cass articulated the question that she was about to ask.
Brocc gestured with his head through the window.
‘Look down there, at the mouth of the inlet.’
Fidelma and Cass both rose and went to join the abbot, curiously peering over his shoulder towards the spot he had indicated. There were several ships at anchor in the inlet, among them two large ocean-going vessels. Brocc was specifying one of these larger vessels, riding against its sea anchor, near the exit to the sheltered bay.
‘You are a warrior, Cass.’ Brocc’s bass voice was morose. ‘Can you identify that vessel? You see the one I mean? Not the Frankish merchantman but the other one.’
Cass screwed up his eyes as he examined the lines of the ship.
‘It flies the standard of Fianamail, the king of Laigin,’ he replied with some surprise. ‘It is a Laigin ship of war.’